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This is the story of two furs as they go through their lives together, a decade at a time. It's a project I've been working on for a while now, in my head and on paper, and I'm so glad to be posting it for the furry public to see at long last. I can't remember the last time I ever invested so much emotionally in a series.

I really hope that you'll give it a read, and follow these two in their life together from start to finish. Hopefully it'll reward you at least a fraction as much as writing it has rewarded me.

The characters of John and Samantha were created by me, Jeeves, and should not be used without permission.

Decades - '44'

"You know, sometimes I really don't understand you at all, John Douglas!"

Leaning back in his chair, almost amused by his wife's complaint and the frustrated tone in which it had been uttered, the raccoon smiled. This clearly was not the response Samantha had been looking for, of course it wasn't, and she scowled darkly, not the slightest bit amused by what had been a serious comment on her part.

"No, really, tell me what's going on inside that head of yours. Up until last year it was all save, save, save, invest, invest, invest, now it's only mid February and you've bought us a godawful new car, a new TV, all manner of gadgets and gizmo's which I'm sure only TV and the internet ever told you existed, and now you want us to take a holiday?!"

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head patiently.

"No, not a holiday, Samantha. A second honeymoon. A trip just for the two of us where we can cut loose and go nuts for a week or two. Get drunk at clubs. Make out in the streets. Fool around in the restrooms of fancy restaurants. All the good stuff!"

The lemur's eyes widened as Samantha raised her hands skyward in exasperation.

"For god's sakes, John, we're forty four years old. A second honeymoon for us would be chilling out in front of the pool, watching TV and not worrying about the bills our kids are racking up watching pay per view movies and sports for two weeks. What you just described sounds like hell, like some student spring break trip full of vomit and sexually transmitted diseases. Is that really what you see yourself enjoying, still? Or is this some kind of effort to recapture your lost youth?"

If Samantha's eyes had been wide before, they must surely have outgrown her head as she uttered those final words. The lemur pointed, accusingly, at her husband, and snapped her fingers pointedly.

"That's it, isn't it! Oh my god, you're actually having a mid-life crisis. For god's sakes, John, wake up and smell the coffee grounds. You're forty four, not eighty four. You've still got at least thirty years ahead of you, I'll be willing to bet!"

Leaning back further into the embrace of his armchair, his wife still standing before him with her finger outstretched in an all too knowingly judging manner, the raccoon's smile faded substantially. He glared up at Samantha, and in a voice much _smaller_than his well kept form might have suggested released an angry mutter directed at the female.

"Thirty years ahead, and more than ten more than that behind me."

That, more than anything else which her husband had said or done these past few months, really got Samantha's goat.

"Oh no, don't you start acting like you haven't had a damn good life these past forty four years. A loving family. Good friends. A woman who's loved you for the best part of thirty years now. Two beautiful kids. A job that pays and a house in the countryside! Don't you _dare_play the 'I haven't achieved anything' card with me now."

John snorted.

"Says the lemur with her own series of recipe books, a radio series and four newspaper columns."

That hurt. That really hurt. To have her career, the career she'd worked damn hard to build for herself, thrown back in her face. How dare he?!

"Yes, John, a career I wouldn't have even started if it wasn't for you! I might have packed it all in and started writing some damned advice column in our local paper had you not convinced me to fight, to demand a restaurant review column instead. If you hadn't proved to me that I could at least _try_to get somewhere in History class at school, I might not have ever written that essay which helped to get me my place in college, and my first job after it. If you hadn't motivated me to be my very best every single day, god only knows where I'd be. Probably where you are now, slumped in a chair doing absolutely sod all to make my life better! Just trying to ignore it, and wait for it to go away."

With a soft growl, not an angry or aggressive growl, but one clearly made in offence of what had just been said, John rose from his chair. He towered a good foot over his wife, but she wasn't intimidated by him in the slightest. They stood toe to toe, eye to eye, and stared one another down.

"Well, maybe if you did spend a little more time at home rather than running round all sorts of fancy restaurants and having dinners with Michelin starred chefs as part of some supposed research for your latest book, I'd have something to do on my days off, and during weekends. Maybe I wouldn't be having a mid-life crisis if my fifteen year old son wasn't going out and getting drunk with the godawful friends my wife says we can't stop him from hanging out with. Maybe I wouldn't be having a mid-life crisis if my daughter hadn't told me she hated me last week, and told me that maybe I wouldn't be such a crappy dad if I had hung out with them a bit more when they were kids rather than spending all my time at work! Maybe I wouldn't be having a mid-life crisis if I actually had a wife to share my problems with, instead of this work-loving, family hating food critic who calls herself my wife."

Almost every home hears it at some point in its history, whether the sorrowful call of an abusive husband, the jaded anguish of a cuckolded wife, or the frustrated rage of a heartbroken spouse. The thick, sharp sound of palm against flesh. A strong, savage slap, fuelled by the third of those three possible scenarios as Samantha bristled with contempt at her husband's insinuations.

"Bastard!"

She slapped him a second time, this time firmly across the chest. John was too busy raising a hand to his stinging cheek to care about that second impact though, or the third which followed it. He stared down at the lemur, tears of spontaneous shock and pain prickling at the corners of his eyes. There were tears in Samantha's eyes too as she realised what she'd done.

"Y-you bastard, John. How dare you say that about me. About us. How dare you say that I don't care, when you know full well I'd do anything for you and our kids. I'd quit my job in a heartbeat if I thought for a moment it was making you truly unhappy. I'd go to a hundred clubs in the sleaziest, roughest cities around the world if I thought for a moment it was really going to bring us closer together. You can call me a workaholic, you can call me a bitch, you can call me any name under the sun and I won't give a shit, they're just words after all. But don't you ever, ever say that I don't care like you believe it, because that's not just wrong, John. It's so wrong I could hate you for saying it."

Still holding his cheek, John just kept on staring. Tears were still rolling slowly but steadily down his cheeks, and now Samantha was beginning to wonder if they really were just a knee-jerk reaction to the pain caused by her slap. If he wouldn't engage with her though, if he wouldn't listen to her words, then Samantha would need to show her husband that she was dedicated to him above all else. She knew it would seem weak in some respects, like she was taking the blame for his mid life crisis, and maybe it was. But the bottom line was that Samantha _did_love this man, and she did know that he'd made a lot of sacrifices for her to have the career she'd always dreamed of over the years of their marriage. Weeks alone with the kids when she was out of the country exploring native Indian cuisine, or running her latest book tour. Sleepless nights as he fought to convince her not to tear up the latest draft of her new book, the lemur convinced that it, like her opinions on food, were all a piece of shit. He had done a lot for her at a cost to his freedom, his peace and piece of mind, and even his dignity. The least she could do for him in return, was prove that his fears, however irrational and mindlessly stupid, were indeed irrational!

The lemur turned away from her husband, crossing the living room and making her way towards the small mahogany side-table which stood just to the left of their large, thickly draped front window. She picked up the handset of the phone which sat upon the table, and began to dial a number she knew by heart.

"W-what are you doing, Sammy?"

At last, John spoke. Without turning to face him, not wanting the raccoon to see the fear and sorrow in her eyes, not wanting him to know how much this was hurting her, Samantha answered simply and honestly.

"I'm calling up my agent. I'm... I'm telling him that the book deal is over. That the radio series is done. T-that there'll be no TV appearances, no more newspaper columns, a-and no more Samantha Walsh; Food Critic. F-from now on, I'm just gonna be plain old Samantha Walsh-Douglas again, i-if that's what it takes to spend more time with you. To be there for you when you need me."

Silence. Not a thank you. Not an awe-struck whimper. Not a single sound from John. Samantha swallowed thickly, and very nearly sobbed as the phone stopped ringing and a voice spoke from the other end of the line.

'Samantha, sweetie. To what do I owe the pleasure at... yikes, 9.30 in the evening. I really need to hire a second assistant, or a better first one.'

The lemur felt as though if she opened her mouth to say anything, she might vomit with fear. But... she had to. For John, she had to.

"Larry, h-hi. I just called to say that... t-that..."

A hand snatched the phone away from Samantha's ear before she could say another word, and as the lemur wheeled round on the spot to see who was responsible for preventing her from showing her husband how much he truly meant to her, she saw that very man lifting the phone to his own ear.

"Hey, Larry, it's John here. Yeah, I'm good, thanks. Listen... Sammy's having a bit of trouble with the current chapter of her book, and she thinks she may be a day or two late with the deadline. Is that gonna be a problem, coz she's been stressing out madly about it all week."

One of Samantha's hands flew to cover her muzzle, and the lemur sobbed with relief, with gratitude, and with pure joy as she sank helplessly to her knees.

"It's not? She can have another _week_if she needs it? Oh, that's great, Larry, she'll be so relieved. Yeah, yeah I'll tell her. All my best to Jane and the kids. See you for dinner next week. Yeah. Bye."

John pulled the phone away from his ear, ended the call, and tossed the handset blindly across the room. It hit their oak coffee table, a sizeable dent appearing in the polished surface, but neither John nor Samantha cared. The raccoon was too busy dropping to his own knees, bringing himself almost level with Samantha, and then the two of them were embracing, kissing, and sobbing openly together as they did so.

"I c-can't believe you would have done that for me..."

Tears streamed shamelessly down John's face as he kissed his wife over and over and over again, each kiss soft and light and oh so fierce, but filled with the passion and adoration of a thousand long, deep smooches. She kissed him back, hands roaming through his thick headfur and clutching his muzzle close to hers between fevered snippets of dialogue.

"I'd do anything for you, John. Anything, I swear it!"

The raccoon shook his head in anger, in self-loathing, and pulled back from their kissing to look Samantha dead in the eye.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry I doubted you, and I'm sorry I've been acting like such an ass. I... I'll try to get over it. I'll try to see what I know, deep down, is there. The million things that make me the luckiest guy alive. I just... I wish it was easier, y'know? I wish I could just... not go back in time, but, make our lives simpler, like they were when we were just married. Everything seemed like a game back then. Everything was fun, and easy, a-and we did everything together. Lately, it feels like me and you are just that. Two separate entities. I... I remember when you couldn't have Samantha without John. I remember when if a day or two passed where we hadn't been able to spend some quality time together, we'd feel like part of ourselves had died. Now... n-now I'm lucky if I get to cuddle up to you in bed one night a week, coz you're always coming to bed so late I fall asleep still waiting for you."

Hearing her husband speak like this, articulating his feelings so clearly and cleanly, Samantha couldn't help but wonder how long these words had been lingering under the surface, held back for fear of offending or embarrassing her. For the couple of months during which John had been displaying these mid-life crisis like behaviours, or perhaps for even longer. Four, maybe five months? A year? Longer?! God... how long had it been since they had last spent some good quality time together. Not a snatched moment here or there at the end of a day, not a kiss, a fumble and an I love you as Samantha prepared to head off for another meeting or book tour or jet set expedition. Real, quality time.

The lemur was horrified to realise that she genuinely could not answer that question. That, to her mind, meant it had most certainly been far too long.

"L-let's do it, John. Let's do what you were saying earlier, t-take a second honeymoon together."

The raccoon, resting on his own knees before her, frowned.

"But... Sammy, w-what you said before, what I said before, you were right. It's all just some dumb mid-life crisis. I don't really want to go clubbing, or partying, or fooling around in restaurant bathrooms."

Raising a paw for silence, Samantha continued from where she'd left off.

"Not a vacation full of partying. Not a wild, crazy romp. A real, honest to god second honeymoon. Good food, romantic walks on the beach, or the lakeside, or wherever we go, long days and warm nights. All of it uninterrupted. No phone. No pager. No computer. No notebooks. Just me and you, two forty-somethings in love, together."

John's eyes shone with hope. He wanted to believe that it was possible, really he did.

"B-but... the kids..."

Samantha sighed, shaking her head.

"I don't know, maybe your brother can look after them. Maybe my mum can come and stay here while we're away. We'll find a way, we'll find some way, because... we need this. You, _and_me. We both need this, for us."

Shuffling a little closer to his wife, John nuzzled the lemur upon her cheek. She sighed once again, perhaps a little relief mixed in with her nerves and still rather strained emotions, and gently bumped her nose against his. They kissed, Eskimo style, for almost a minute before switching to the traditional lip to lip method, and after all that waiting, Samantha drew back from the kiss after just a few seconds of contact.

"We're gonna be okay. Right, John?"

The raccoon whimpered, his own heart breaking as he finally saw just how much his behaviour had scared and unnerved his normally supremely confident and optimistic wife.

"Oh god, Sammy... of course we're going to be okay. We're gonna be better than okay, we'll be stronger than ever. I... I'm so sorry that I put you through this, that I behaved like such a selfish brat, but... it'll be okay now. I promise."

The two lovers, husband and wife, raccoon and lemur, embraced tightly, and sank into yet another emotive, tender kiss which this time was allowed to runs its full course. More tears fell, smiles shone, and bridges which had begun to decay without either fur realising it finally began the reconstruction process once more. Soon, both John and Samantha believed, those bridges would shine and sparkle once more. Not just rebuilt, but bigger and stronger than ever, with a polished chrome finish.

A short distance away, beyond the slightly ajar door which led from the living room to the hallway, Robbie stood and watched his parents kissing with a mixed expression of typical teenage disapproval, and shameful embarrassment. Several metres away his older sister Sadie sat at the bottom of the stairs, watching her brother with a mournful expression on her face.

They'd heard everything, how could they not. At first, they'd been angry at their dad. Then, they'd been pissed off at their mother. Now... now they were just glad that their parents were making amends after an increasingly tense few months, and in the wake of all that yelling and tension, they both couldn't help but remember what part their own problems had played. Suddenly, seeing the harm it had wrought so close to home, Robbie didn't feel like there was anything fun about getting wasted with his mates anymore. Sure, the buzz was pretty cool, but it wasn't worth this any more than it was worth the hangovers the following morning. Similarly, Sadie now felt remorse for having said what she'd said to her father a week ago. She'd never considered that maybe he'd actually listen, and take it to heart. She'd never considered that maybe he really _did_feel bad about missing things during their childhood.

To most kids, parents were just that. Parents. They weren't people, and they certainly didn't have the same problems which Sadie and Robbie found themselves dealing with day to day.

Except... they were, and they did.

In the living room, Samantha began to weep, and buried her head in John's shoulder. The raccoon held his wife close, and whispered that he loved her. In the hallway, Robbie pulled away from the door, and walked over to his sister.

"C'mon, Sadie. Lets give mum and dad some space."

Robbie waited as his sister rose to her feet, and then, on the spur of the moment, wrapped his arms round her in a brief hug. Birthdays and Christmases aside, the teen couldn't remember the last time he'd just hugged his sister for the sake of hugging her, and it was a great relief to feel her hugging him back a few seconds later. After a short while, maybe ten or fifteen seconds, they parted from one another's arms again. Both teens were blushing slightly, and began to ascend the stairs to their respective rooms as though that uncharacteristically sentimental show of familial emotion had never occurred.

"Hey, Robbie... w-what mum said to dad at the end there. They are, a-aren't they?"

Pausing about three quarters of the way up the stairs, his sister having stopped just in front of him, the younger of the two siblings looked up at Sadie. He nodded, his face grim but sincere.

"Yeah, they'll be okay. But... I think they'll need us to back off for a while, to take it easy on them."

Sadie nodded in agreement.

"I think I can do that. F-for them."

Robbie nodded too, and began to follow his sister up the stairs once again.

"Yeah. For them."

By Jeeves